‘That suits you.’ Anna was careful to stifle her discomfort. She accepted him – utterly, without question – but it would take a while for her reactions to catch up. ‘What does hormone replacement therapy do?’ She was fearful of the answer.
‘It helps me be more womanly.’ Josh eyed her, as if wondering how frank to be. ‘Haven’t you noticed I don’t have stubble any more?’
Anna raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t. So much I didn’t notice – too busy worrying about him to really see him. She’d spotted the make-up in his flat, but not the medicine.
‘And, um, well, under here . . .’ Josh motioned to his loose shirt.
‘Boobs?’ blurted Anna.
‘I love that word,’ grinned Josh. ‘Just the beginnings of them. Don’t worry, I’m not going to come over all Katie Price.’
She laughed, guiltily, as if at some blasphemous joke. Josh was vaulting over taboos as if they weren’t there. It was liberating. I like this Josh.
‘There was a shake-up at the clinic, and Luca wasn’t my therapist any more. I was devastated, but it freed us up to be friends. He’s one in a million, that guy. I don’t know whether I’d have come this far without him.’
‘You would.’
Josh picked up the Polaroid from the coffee table. ‘Do I pass, Anna?’ he said quietly.
‘It was a look in the eyes that told me it was you.’
‘That was a great afternoon.’ Josh looked at the snap as if it was from a dim and distant past. ‘Nothing earth-shattering; lunch and a stroll. We mooched round an antiques place. Luca gave me courage by being there. He accepted me. It matters, you know?’
Anna nodded. ‘What’s the next step?’
He said the word she dreaded.
‘Are you sure, Josh? Surgery? It’s a such a massive step.’
‘Exactly! You’ve only had today to get used to the idea, but I’ve been turning it over in my mind since primary school. I’m ready. This is happening.’
‘Right.’ Anna slapped her knees. ‘We have to tell the family.’
Josh groaned. ‘Do we have to? I don’t want Neil’s advice or Maeve’s pity or Dinkie’s prayers.’
‘Yes you do. Because the only reason they bother to give you advice or cry over you or light a candle at Mass for you is because they love you, Josh. They love you so much, they don’t even know they love you. It flows, naturally, like a river, through your life. If you’re going to pass, then you have to pass with the Pipers first.’
The Intrepid Fox was full.
Early and alone, at a corner table laid for two, Anna watched the door. She sipped a Coke she couldn’t taste. She thought suddenly of Yeti, and regretted her bad temper. Today was a day of inclusiveness. Hopefully. She shouldn’t have left the big daft thing outside. I’ll make it up to him.
Every time the door opened, Anna sat up. An elderly woman came in, then a cocky young man. A couple with a pushchair. A guy in a turban. Each time, she sat back disappointed.
Until ten to two when the door opened and she stood up, almost knocking over the table. ‘You came!’
‘Where else would I be?’ Sam put down a bouquet of garage flowers. ‘I’m sorry, Anna. I can be a right silly sod at times.’
‘True dat.’
When Anna had faced him across their Artem desks and told him about the letters, Sam had gaped at her. He’d made her repeat it. He’d stood up and paced before sitting down and tapping his fingers on the wood until Anna begged him to stop.
‘I can’t – how . . .’
It was some time before he managed a sentence.
Sam had pushed the baby – he’d never referred to the child as Bonnie – into a corner of his mind so dusty and so rarely visited that being forced to confront the memory had unhinged him.
‘I’m only telling you,’ Anna had said, her head in her hands at his reaction, ‘because I’m meeting her on Sunday and I’d like you, as her biological father, to be there too.’
‘This is a hornet’s nest.’ Sam had found his tongue. ‘It’s madness, what’s the point, after all these years!’
‘Twenty-four. To the day.’ Sam knew about Anna’s ritual with the newspapers each year, but he had never joined in. Except, she’d realised, for the very first one. Sam had brought in a copy of that day’s newspaper when Anna gave birth, and folded it carefully into her hospital bag.
The physical pain of that day. The long stretches of suffering. Dipping down into reserves she didn’t know she had. Time bending, unimportant. The endless bloody ‘now’ of childbirth.
Plus secrecy. Plus shame. Teenaged Anna had wondered what the nurses thought of her; adult Anna knew they were probably sympathetic.
‘I don’t know this woman,’ Sam had said, his face distraught.
‘Carly. Her name is Carly.’ Anna remembered their marriage. The scrupulous use of contraception. The concerted effort to let sleeping dogs lie. Their first baby had overwhelmed them; another would remind them of the first.
‘I didn’t forget her, you know.’ Sam had slumped at his desk. ‘Trying not to remember is a strenuous thing. I couldn’t forget her, but I did my best not to remember. Because she’s not ours, Anna. The baby went on to have a new life. We’re not part of it. This is dangerous.’
‘Carly’s our flesh and blood.’ Anna could remember how her own flesh tore and her blood flowed. ‘What if she’s been mistreated? The letters don’t read like they’re from a happy woman.’
Sam had made a small noise. A meow of anguish. ‘No. She’s been fine. We did the right thing.’
‘And what are you basing that on?’ Anna had been incredulous.
‘Nothing,’ Sam had admitted. ‘Hope, maybe.’
No matter how they tried to whitewash the space she’d left behind, Carly had been in every corner of their lives. They would never have married, Anna knew that now, if they hadn’t been bound together by their tragic backstory.
We got married in order to heal each other.
Now, sitting opposite each other in The Intrepid Fox, Sam said, ‘I’m sorry, Anna. What sort of man refuses to meet his own daughter?’
They’d never used that word. Too combustible.
‘Ssh, it’s fine, Sam. I had time to get used to the letters. The first one freaked me out, too. You’re here now. It’s fine.’
‘What I said . . . about Isabel . . .’ Sam swallowed. ‘That was so selfish.’ He had wondered aloud what Isabel would make of a child he had never mentioned. ‘That wasn’t your problem, and it certainly wasn’t . . .’ He smiled. ‘I can’t keep calling her the baby. She’s twenty-four years old. It wasn’t Carly’s problem.’
‘It was a knee-jerk response. Have you told Isabel?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And?’
‘And she had a little cry. She’s dying to know how today goes.’
‘See?’ Anna saw the landlady come out from behind the bar, notepad in hand, and head for their table.
‘What can I get you?’ she said. ‘The beef’s very good today.’
‘Hello, Carly,’ said Anna.
The tall woman had green eyes and freckles and a sleek head of dark hair she’d pulled back into a stubby ponytail.
‘What?’ Sam took a moment to catch up.
‘I googled this pub and there you were, on the About Us page,’ said Anna gently. She’d been surprised; Carly’s home address was a couple of streets away. They evidently didn’t live over the business. ‘That’s your husband, isn’t it?’
The man at the bar, older than Carly, and bulky in an Argyll sweater, was keeping an eye on them.
Sam stood, gazing at Carly as if she was an apparition. ‘Oh my God,’ he said, and opened his arms.
Carly sat down abruptly.
Anna wanted to shout, You’re gorgeous! She said nothing. At last, she took Luca’s advice and let Carly lead.
Sam filled the silence that ensued. ‘So, I’m Sam, and this is Anna. We got married, you know, after . . .’
Carly hung her head.<
br />
Anna flashed a look at Sam. Too much! She could practically read the young woman’s thoughts: So they could have kept me? ‘We wanted to salvage something from what happened.’ This was not panning out as she’d imagined.
‘From what happened.’ Carly mimicked her. She was strong-looking, with solid limbs and clear features. Her clothes were plain. She had taste, restraint. And she was furious. ‘I’m what happened, Anna Piper.’
‘It’s hard for us to talk about this. It’s always been too painful to—’
‘Whereas for me it’s been lovely!’ Carly pushed the edges of her mouth up with two forefingers. ‘Thank you so much, Mummy and Daddy, for giving me away.’ Her mouth dropped. ‘Is that what you want to hear?’
‘I don’t want to hear anything in particular,’ said Anna. ‘I just want to see you. At last.’ Something in her snapped. I’m sitting here with my Bonnie. Tears rolled of their own accord down Anna’s face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wiping at them with the back of her hand.
Carly said nothing.
Sam tried again. ‘I wouldn’t call it giving you away. It was more—’
‘I would,’ said Carly. ‘It happened to me, so I get to name it.’
‘There was terrible pressure,’ said Sam. ‘We didn’t want to. We couldn’t—’
‘I have a baby,’ said Carly abruptly. She battled for a moment to take charge of her emotions as Anna stared, gobsmacked. ‘She’s two. Yeah, you’re a grandma,’ she sneered. ‘I would never ever let somebody take her away. So . . .’ She shrugged. Wobbled her head.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Anna.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sam.
Carly laughed. ‘Oh, that’s all OK then.’
‘Your new family—’ began Sam.
‘They’re not new,’ snapped Carly.
‘Sorry, yes, I didn’t mean . . . were you happy with them?’
‘I love my mum and my dad. They’ve given me everything. Spoiled me, even. Most of all, they were honest with me from the start. Told me I wasn’t their natural child, but that never made a bit of difference. They’re my heroes.’
Funny how Anna could feel intense relief and disabling jealousy at the same time. ‘That’s all I’ve ever wanted to know.’ She turned to Sam, smiling, crying. ‘You were right!’ She turned back to Carly. ‘He said you’d be loved, and you are.’
‘Did you two have more kids?’
‘God no,’ said Sam.
‘Isn’t that his?’ Carly nodded at Anna’s bump.
‘No, it’s . . . well, it’s complicated.’ That comment about honesty had hit home: Anna wasn’t up to confessing about Dylan, but she didn’t want to fudge, either.
‘Keeping this one, are you?’ Carly’s face was stone.
When she got her breath back, Anna asked ‘Would you like us to explain? About how it was when I was pregnant with you. About why we gave you up for adoption.’
Carly’s poise was crumbling. ‘Your note told me everything I needed to know.’
‘That note took me a long time to write.’ Anna risked a smile.
‘All I wanted from you,’ said Carly, ignoring the smile, ‘was a hug. I wanted the man and woman who brought me into this world to give me a hug and tell me . . .’ She was crying now, her words too damp to comprehend.
The man behind the bar abandoned his customers and hurried over.
‘Carly, love,’ he began, and she turned to him, burying her face in his jumper.
‘Have all the hugs you want!’ Anna put her hand on Carly’s shoulder but was shaken off. ‘We’re here and we so want to hold you, Carly.’
Carly’s husband, moustachioed, balding, an odd match for the vibrant young woman, whispered, ‘I knew they’d upset you, love.’ He snarled at Anna. ‘Why’d you have to come here? And on her birthday, too.’
Forks were paused halfway to mouths all round the room. Anna reached out for Sam’s hand, and he took hers gratefully.
‘Best go, eh?’ said the husband.
‘If you say so.’ Anna’s feet were lead. So much had been left unsaid. It was delicate, and now it was ruined. ‘Carly,’ she said, trying one last time.
‘Here.’ Carly rummaged in her sleeve and produced what Anna thought at first was a tissue. ‘Take it.’
‘It’s my note to you!’ Anna recognised the pale pink notepaper from the writing set she’d had as a teenager. ‘But . . .’
‘Take it, I said!’ Carly broke away from her husband and hurtled towards the bar, disappearing through the back.
Anna felt more pregnant than ever. More pregnant than any woman had ever been. Sam had to help her to the car. She was heavy, ungainly, a dense planet balanced on insufficient legs.
She cried all the way home. Yes, Carly hated them, but that was the least of it. She’s so bitter. Anna and Sam had messed up their own child.
‘You never told me about a note,’ said Sam, when they’d been parked at the end of Anna’s road for ten minutes and the tears had ebbed.
Anna held the balled paper in her hand. ‘It said, Dear Bonnie, I want you to know that you are loved, and you’ll be loved as long as I live. I’ll think of you every day and never stop hoping that you are appreciated and happy and growing up just fine. You are special. You are beautiful. You are my one and only Bonnie. We must live apart. But we’ll be OK, won’t we? Because we love each other. Your first mummy, Anna Piper.’
‘Jesus, Anna,’ whispered Sam.
‘I put my heart into that note, and she gave it back.’ Whatever Carly did, Anna would defend her to the end. But it hurts.
No Yeti at the door. Anna, sick and tired of her body and wishing she could take it off as easily as she peeled off her coat, padded out to the garden, unlocked the door, calling his name. Time to make it up to him.
She dragged herself upstairs, and pulled on her oldest, old lady-est nightdress. She needed comfort. Toast. Blanket. Yeti.
Crossing to the tin where she kept his treats, Anna noticed the absence of noise. No paws scrabbling on floorboards. No gruff barks. No dirty-phone-call panting. ‘Yeti?’ She poked her head out of the back door.
She knew he was gone. Just as Yeti could be emphatically there, he was now emphatically absent. She checked the kennel, her bare feet slithering on the damp slabs. Empty. She looked wildly about her. Could he have jumped the fence?
A soft bang made her turn. The narrow passage that ran between Anna’s house and her neighbours was an unusual detail – a sort of tunnel, cut through the ground floors only. It was dank. The bins lived there. The door at the street end was always locked.
Except for today. It shivered open again.
Anna ran through the mucky slime of the neglected passage. ‘Yeti!’ she yelled, bursting into her front garden.
Through the front gate, her bump slowed her down. Anna bent over, panting, by a neighbour’s wall.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked a voice from a doorway.
‘My dog,’ gulped Anna, setting off again. ‘My dog.’
Three streets away, there was a shape against a skip. A dark mound, stained orange by the street lamp. It’s not him, thought Anna. But she knew it was him.
‘Yeti.’ She fell to her knees, feeling her pelvis lurch. ‘I’m sorry.’
Chapter Thirteen
Lunch at Maeve’s
CRUDITÉS WITH HOME-MADE GARLIC DIP
RATATOUILLE
CHOCOLATE MOUSSE
Maeve’s house had been tidied. The floor was visible. The windows were transparent.
Anna wasn’t sure she liked it.
‘Oh Christ, you’re enormous,’ laughed Maeve.
With only five weeks to go, Anna looked ready to pop. She pulled up a hard chair; If I lower myself onto Maeve’s kooky beanbag sofa, I may have to stay there until I give birth.
‘Terrible about poor Yeti,’ said Maeve.
Anna was not at home to Mr Melodrama. ‘Yes, yes, all very sad et cetera.’ She looked down at Yeti, lying in his XXL dog bed, one f
ront leg stiff in a grubby cast. ‘He’s doing fine.’
More than fine, the dog lived like a medieval monarch. Travelling everywhere on a velvet litter, Yeti was never left at home. He was fed a steady stream of dog treats. His poor sore paw was kissed, often. Anna blamed herself for his broken leg, and had vowed to spoil him for the rest of his days.
Armchair psychologists the world over would recognise this as a pitiful attempt to try and make good all her mistakes. To assuage Carly. To win back Luca.
‘Have you called him?’ Maeve was half her old self, half the new model. The hair was tamed, but the dress was vintage (aka jumble sale) and a tad too low-cut.
‘Who?’ asked Anna innocently.
‘Oh, shut up,’ said Maeve, using the special permission that all sisters have to be just this side of horrid to their siblings. ‘Luca.’ She held out her mobile. ‘Do it. Call him. Tell him you want him back. Quick,’ she added, with a glance at Anna’s stomach. ‘Before the big day.’
‘He’ll hardly want a woman who needs to be winched out of bed every morning.’
‘Luca was bang into you, you silly cow.’
‘Such poetry,’ smiled Anna. Maeve was a dreamer; Luca knows by now that Josh has told me all. If he wanted to rekindle the affair he’d have been in touch. Anna allowed him the latitude he’d advocated for Carly. She was letting him take the lead.
Some nights it was tempting. His number was still in her ‘favourites’. But then she thought of the disgust on his face as he left, of the limited time they would have together even if he did, crazily, come back.
‘My focus is on the baby now,’ she said to Maeve.
‘You pompous bitch.’ Maeve knelt to kiss Yeti’s nose. ‘What’s good for you is good for the baby.’
Anna wanted to tell Maeve everything. About her first baby, the lost baby, the baby who’d grown up to hate her. She wanted to read her the note and yell, Look! How could she loathe me when I wrote this! But Maeve was still her little sis and must be protected.
‘D’you miss him?’ asked Maeve.
‘All the time. I’m hoping it’s my hormones.’
‘You can’t blame everything,’ said Maeve, ‘on your hormones.’ She left woman and dog together as she went to stir things and chop things in the kitchen.
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